I’m not the only one chasing a story. It’s the reason we’re drawn to chaos and bad news in the first place; we want to make sure we don’t miss the set-up scene before the hero enters the plot and saves the day. There’s no error in the pursuit, but in the Glory we fail time and time again – pinning greatness upon humans without rightly crediting the source from which strength begins.

I’ve learned a lot about myself through the years and the conclusion isn’t soothing at all. I’ve seen my weakness – all of it. I’ve learned that I’m capable of the thoughts, deeds and actions of the worst walking the planet, given the right circumstances. Likewise, I’ve learned the only thing standing between me and becoming one with that darkness is the light of God. I’ve never stopped praying. I’ve prayed through the smallest moments of glory clinging to the tiniest glimmer of hope that could be found. And I’ve prayed through countless nights of terror, torment and tears unending.

He’s still alive. And over the last week I’ve understood with clarity that this is the reason I’m able to keep getting out of bed each day. As my mind is swimming in scenes of what could go wrong paired with real life images and encounters with the evidence of destruction upon us I keep tight hold to the one piece of good news I can stand on. He’s still here. He’s still breathing. God keeps rising the sun with a world where I still have a son. And that’s beautiful because it means God’s not done yet.

Last night I laid in torment thinking through the details of all that I need to figure out how to do with no money in the bank and the heavy task of finding an open door for a place my son and I can live and a car for me to drive to and from work. Then there’s the element of influence in those factors. If I’m hardly here because my job requires me to live in the clouds how will I find time to get him groomed, get his teeth fixed and sprinkle him with inspiration to find a job, make friends and maybe even pick up the basketball again?

I woke with another remembrance of words said to me on the plane yesterday from the security guard in 37A. “Don’t be surprised if you one day find out that your son had an encounter while on that drive from Texas to California.” I wonder if like me in my teenage years clinging to life in the face of death, if my son had seen the likeness of such an experience. I wonder if he would tell anyone if he had. He only shared with me the fear of the car breaking down as he was driving steep mountains in the desert.

Then I woke up and looked outside, sniffling through the symptoms of my immune system fighting something I don’t have time to let bring me down right now, and I saw a big black man walking a dog to the park as images behind him at Warner flashed in the sunlight with bodies moving on pull-up bars and running on the track. “His first word was ball,” an inner voice whispered to me. Then as I moved slowly downstairs trying to get the Npresso machine to spit out a little bit of caffeine I heard the security man’s voice in my memory say, “Everyone I’m meeting traveling the world is a piece to the puzzle of what I want to do with my mom’s hotel.” Puzzle pieces. He sees what I see. It’s all a masterpiece of God’s design being woven together in ways we can’t understand.

Cleaning out my travel bag as my thoughts danced in the details of my son’s strange decision to wake up, jump in a car that barely runs and head for California just days ago brought me back to the experience my daughter had in driving to Florida 2 years ago. She had a plan for her father to accompany her in a U-haul as the movers finished loading up the last of her belongings and she called me in tears to tell me the bad news. “My dad says he’s not coming. He said he’s handicap and doesn’t think the drive will be good for his health and fears he could have another stroke or high blood pressure.” She talked through clouds of tears as her muffled voice struggled to make words. Moments after getting off the phone with her as I fought against a panic attack my phone chimed with a text message from a boy I’d met months back on a plane from LA to Houston. He’s a professional basketball player who was injured before entering the NBA draft, made a miraculous comeback and today plays ball oversees as his gift has taken on a new life in also speaking life into kids as a testimony of what God did for him.

I looked down at Alexa to see a news story flashing on the screen of NBA battles and again heard in my inner voice, “His first word was ball.”

Today my son would probably struggle to walk around the block after years of atrophy in his muscles confined to a small dark room at his father’s house where his only friend was addiction and escape. He’s probably only 140 pounds sopping wet. He hasn’t had a haircut in a year, his long fingernails are harboring dirt from the decay, his entire mouth needs to be pulled of diseased teeth and reset with veneers and he speaks the phrase often, “I’m too far gone.” Meanwhile I’m the crazy woman who once managed a famous youtube channel titled “Texas Football Mom” who learned to believe in miracles by watching him on a field, inspiring me to believe that the size of man doesn’t hold a candle in war with the size of his heart.

Lion. That’s what he is. My leo baby born on August 17th, 2001 as the world welcomed him in with an attack on American soil in the tragedy of September 11th. Perhaps that event was a prologue to what his journey would look like here on earth. From the destruction and from the ashes a phoenix will rise. By the way, the phoenix rising is the logo of the security guard in seat 37A. He described himself as a boy born into a family with a father that had nothing to give but a mother who is a strong prayer warrior and businesswoman. That was me when my son began to fall. Somewhere deep inside of me is a phoenix waiting to rise again too. In hope. In perseverance and in alignment to the word of God that I speak over my son’s life from the book of Jeremiah 29;11 – “I know the plans for you says the Lord. Plans to give you hope and a future.”

Back to the subject of puzzle pieces. Glenn is on a mission as a widow of the angel who I believe had a hand in our paths crossing. He want’s Val’s book to be made into a movie. It’s her legacy and ironically it’s his childhood dream also to be in the creative arts and film industry. He seems to think I’m the key holding the power to unlock this dream – as a writer and a soul who is seemingly connected to the ancestors and angels. Which I am, whether I understand it or even welcome such a gift that often feels more like a cloud of confusion. But I wonder does Glenn see puzzle pieces too. I wonder if he understands the key in his own hands right now as my son is living on his couch. He just met him and he welcomes him in his darkest hours. He can’t see the past I hold onto in the memories of that young boy’s trials and triumphs. He doesn’t know what I know – the greatness hidden within the young man who’s seeking a way to climb up out of the pit. So with all he can’t see, and with his own motives as an opportunist seeking to bring his wife’s book to life in a chapter of fame and fortune, I wonder will he find the map to the true treasure.

“But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. ²¹ For where your treasure is there will your heart be also.” Mathew 6:20 speaks a great mystery – in line with the words of Christ who spoke of the task to take in the homeless stranger, feed the poor. heal the sick and cause the lame to walk. For by doing so we are doing these things unto the Lord.

Glenn isn’t a man versed in bible scripture or chasing the dogma’s of religion, he’s a guy who came up with the hard knocks of life upon his shoulders who crossed paths with an angel holding a pen named Val. Today as she lives in the realms of all who walked this earth to plant seeds then left us to water their work, I wonder does Val speak to him in his dreams of what lies before him now. A choice in the treasure hunt.

I’m bias of course because I have my own agenda to bring my son back to life, get him situated here in California and help guide him to God’s door I believe to be opening now. But I believe in the author who is writing in the sand called us still today and I believe there is no coincidences in anything unfolding. I know the rise of my son is an intricate part of my own inner flame relit with the gifts of story-telling in honor of the good news. I seek the happy ending. I seek the hero in the midst of hopelessness. I seek to inspire generations with the story I tell today and in the days, weeks, months and years to follow. I seek to speak the language of angels into the mundane world of witchcraft in marketing and empty pursuits of the man’s hands into temporal glories that in the end are meaningless. And yet given as icing on the cake when we choose rightly as God’d word says seek the kingdom within first and then all things will be added to you.

My son’s salvation into getting up and finding his path and purpose is a contingency to what Glenn seeks from me, not of my own choosing but as a heartstring of activation by the hands of hope that my soul needs to see, believe and breathe into the story of redemption that I desperately cling to in my silent hours alone with God.

But I speak to that desperation today and ask that it swim in the calm waters of trust. God already knows who he has sent to pick of the baton and carry my son and I into a miracle. We will have a home here in California. We will see the victory. We will walk into a season where we lend and not borrow. He is the seed I’ve asked the Lord and the ancestors to bless and bless him beyond measure of what his hands can even fathom as his cup will overflow.

Glenn wants to tell the story of one who has passed over into the realms of eternity. I want to tell the story of how their love carries on and their presence is with us always in the assignment of our race we run here and now. They are our guardian angels; but the story being told here and now is in the land of the living who walk the earth. They live on not in memory but through us and in us. And by our actions their story never dies. The story of love. The story of hope. The story of victory over death. For hope, faith and love never die.

As for me, and my own identity crisis of sorts I’ve battled with since my world was turned upside down in 2016, I found a remnant of my own soul today. I am the Texas Football Mom. I am also a writer. But without him, I have no story to tell. And so today I pray by the word of God, “Whatever you wish for in my name will be granted to you,” I wish for my son to be healed, to be HOME here with me and to be lifted up in spirit, body, soul and mind as the path to purpose is revealed here and now. For him. For me. For Glenn. For God’s Glory.

I pray these things with a heart that never stops seeking, never stops asking and chooses to believe that all good gifts come down from the Father of Lights.

In Jesus’ name.

Amen.

The one thing I’ve wanted most in recent years is to have someone to talk to who understands. More than a listener or even a voice of confidence, I’ve longed for a guide – a wiseman to come along and say to me, “I’ve been where you are and I have the roadmap to where you are going.” I’ve searched high and low without any such luck. However, I have continually received the puzzle pieces leading me further into the unfolding of a story beyond my human comprehension of what’s possible.

If I truly go back to the beginning, I find myself in my earliest memories as little girl who sleepwalked and scared the bejeeses out of my mother. She complained that she’d wake sometimes in the middle of the night to a wide-eyed little me staring her in the eyes as I repeatedly asked, “Who are you?” and then would correct her when she answered with, “No, you’re not my mother. So, who are you?” She laughed it off and it wasn’t a thing I’d think upon until recently as these strange revelations about myself and my identity beyond this lifetime stay top of mind.

Next, I would travel further into the future remembering a key moment when I had my first ultrasound while pregnant with my son. Let’s call him Jake. When I saw the structure of his bones and listened to his heartbeat a type of joy I’ve never before felt washed through my system. It wasn’t just an excitement of an expectant mother. I’d felt that with my first child. This was different. It’s like I was looking at the arrival of something that was bigger than motherhood. My soul knew him. And in that moment, I recall a strange phrase repeating in my thoughts, “He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s mine.”

His birth into this world didn’t just bring a new child into our household. It birthed a new version of me. One that I would work very hard to keep a secret. He was born on August 17, 2001. And immediately upon returning home from the hospital I remember having a dream unlike any dream I’d ever before experienced. This dream was lifelike to a point that I woke up sweating and labored; as if I had just stepped out of that scene with all of the physical symptoms to indicate I’d actually been there – on the scene of a plane crash. I still remember the images of the pieces of that American Airline jet falling from the sky and the tail wing logo. And I was so shaken by this dream I even put up a big fight with my husband at the time, demanding that he cancel all of his business trips that required him to fly. He thought I’d lost my mind. And I started to wonder if he was right – knowing my behavior wasn’t rational. But then just a few short weeks later, the plane crashes of September 11th shook this world, creating a sense of silence in our own household that went far deeper than the external pain and shock in the country outside of our 4 walls. He knew I’d seen something in my dreamspace. I knew it too. Neither of us could explain such a thing but a distance between us began formulating in the awkwardness.

The night of September 11th also marked the first time I felt the presence of a ghost and even spoke out loud to my great grandmother as I sang the song, “Amazing Grace” to my baby boy in a rocking chair upstairs. I was half asleep and in a twilight state of conscious as I sang the lyrics and then suddenly asked out loud, “Granny Dotta is that you?” My words puzzled me. I even caught myself asking, “Who just used my voice to speak to my ancestors? I don’t do that,” shaking my head in confusion. Something in me sensed her presence and responded without my rational thought or control.

Years later we experienced strange happenings in a home we leased in Raleigh, North Carolina. The toys would go off at random hours in the night by themselves. My son’s 4-wheeler that was kept on the back patio began sounding off nightly, until my husband finally got up one night to remove the batteries. About 5 minutes later it went back to making noise without any electrical source. That’s when my husband concluded that the house was haunted and demanded that we move back to Houston.

And when I received my first dream after meeting the Nigerian woman who showed up on my doorstep in 2016 claiming God sent her and I was her assignment, the dream opened with a scene of my son falling down in a race and not getting back up to keep running.

Yes there’s something special about my son tied to my mission and to the great mystery of this prophetic book I wrote in 2015 that I’ve seemingly been living inside of as a type of parallel reality to the characters of fiction and fantasy.

Remember Skyla ended with the widow finding a book. It was authored by someone who had the power to reveal to her the future of her own life – an unread chapter and a proposal of what must happen next in a time when she believed she’d finished all she’d came here to do on this earth. But before she found the book, she was caught inside of a strange game of clue that seemingly was orchestrated by a source that wasn’t human. The angels. The ancestors. God. An author of new beginnings, great surprise and redemption where hope was lost.

Well, tonight is quite a special night as my son surprised everyone with what he pulled over the last 24 hours in driving from Texas to California without even stopping for a nap. He was on a mission and whatever was powering his actions and protecting his car that wasn’t even sound enough to drive to the grocery store, let alone across the country is not of human strength and plan. I know God’s pen is in this grand gesture. I know the angels created a hedge of protection around him. I know something very significant is taking place right now.

I also know it’s time to pause, get out the treasure chest and take inventory of where I’m at in my quest to find the book that appeared at the end of my manuscript I wrote in 2015 called Remember Skyla. And this time, I might be starting at the end working my way backwards because I believe I might have finally found the mystery book. But just like the work I wrote that never made it to print. This too is a manuscript that’s not yet published. And the author of this manuscript now lives in Heaven.

I was given a copy of Hotel California just a month after I woke up to the voice telling me, “Find your lost buried book.” The man who is now a widow of the author asked me to look it over and asked for my help and advice in publishing it. But I didn’t read it. I was too caught up in the haze of trying to make sense of the dots connecting my own life to the other lost book.

Again the manuscript found me 3 years later when the man gave me a hard copy of the manuscript as I was visiting California on a layover. You would think I’d have been a little more attentive on this second appearance of Hotel California as I’d just left a regression hypnotherapy session with Dr. Anne Marie where my Granny in Heaven led me to Marylnn Monroe – just 3 days before I walked into Valerie’s office and saw a huge poster of Marilynn Monroe covering the wall of her office where she wrote this manuscript. Yes, I took notice. Yes, I messaged Dr. Anne Marie to tell her about the shocking connection. But I still didn’t read the manuscript. Although this time my reasoning was different.

You see as soon as I started reading Val’s book. My entire system began going crazy. I was having vivid dreams and feeling out of body panic attacks. It’s as if the words in the pages were activating visuals and memories that I couldn’t process or understand. I was too confused and embarrassed to explain this to anyone so I simply put the book down hoping that these symptoms would go away.

Here I am now typing this message tonight while laying on the sofa next to Val’s desk, staring up at that poster of Marilyn Monroe, while my son – the subject of my prayers and letters to God I’ve sent into the heavens for exactly 6 years now (to the very week of today) is sleeping sound in the room directly underneath me.

Could it be that all along God was trying to show me an angel in my path in the man who had loved Val, took care of her until she passed away and was divinely sent into my life as an answer to my prayers for me and my son? I was looking everywhere except at the obvious thing right before me the entire time.

My husband’s divorce was final on May 30, 2019. Then I lost my son on June 7, 2019 when he moved out to care for his Dad. I then visited a friend and stayed in a hotel in California – visiting the twin peaks at Point Magu on the weekend of February 23rd and had the profound experience of a portal opening at the very moment my Granny had passed just 3 years later. That prompted me to have dreams of moving to California – which I did in the Spring of 2021. Exactly one month later I met Mr. B, Val’s husband and he visited me and my daughter on the anniversary of his wife passing.

Does my book unpublished, “Remember Skyla” from 2015 have some sort of connection to Val’s book that remains unpublished from 2020? Did she download the book from the Heavens after my visit to California in 2020 opened up the portal at the Twin Mountains? Is this the mystery book from the ending of my script that holds the key to unlocking something so beyond my human comprehension that could connect the puzzle pieces of this divine game of Clue I’ve seemingly been trapped in for nearly a decade?

In my past life regression session with Dr. Anne Marie last Summer in Florida, the recording retells the story of a lifetime that ended with me dying at the bottom of ocean after going overboard a ship. In these scenes I was with a man who I loved on the shores of a place that looked a lot like the Rocky Mountain banks of Southern California. He betrayed me and allowed another man to take me captive on a ship and sail away. I didn’t get to see how I went overboard – whether I was killed or jumped off the ship in suicide during that regression. But I did receive information about who those characters are in my life today. One of the men was my ex-husband and the father of my son in this life. The other man is a friend I met 20 years ago who lured me to California in 2020 and drove me to Point Magu.

In other dreams I’ve had over the last year I’ve seen me with the California man and my son in various scenes. All of these images show my son as a small child. Something in me knows that I lost my son and that had something to do with my death in that past life. Something else in me believes that I’m living inside of a story of redemption for both me and him. And something deep inside of me says that when I do find the strength to open this book written by the writer named Val who’s husband has repeatedly asked me to read it, I will be opened up to see something beyond my wildest dreams.

So I guess this is where it begins. This is where I allow myself to believe in the angels who have been guiding my path and embrace the gift of Hotel California – a script placed in my hands for a divine reason.

Today was a good day. I wrote the letter on my first flight and cried it out. Then I received an epiphany of what Jesus meant when he said “sin no more.” To see this mystery I needed to first simply what it was he did for her. He rescued her from a situation in which not a single person in her life had her back, defended her or cared if she died. Then, I was reminded of a scripture that discusses WHY women commit adultery. In Mathew 5:32 it says every man who puts his wife away is the causes her to commit adultery. Interesting concept isn’t it? Who translated this stuff? She’s the whore and the “adulteress” after the man cheats on her and then puts her away in divorce? That doesn’t sound like justice and yet that’s the kind of ideology these people were subscribing to when they wanted to put all of their sins on one woman’s shoulders.

I’m getting a second chance at the rescue I was gifted 3 years ago and the same exact attacks are coming at me now in different form – trying to pull me back in the dirt with the mob surrounding me screaming “stone her” and Jesus was telling that woman, just as he is telling me today, “Don’t go back to that trap.” He wants the one who is set free by his hand to not look back. Just like Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt when she looked back at Sodom and Gomorah Jesus is telling his daughters to flee these situations that almost killed them and to never turn back to that prison again.

When I walked into my room at the 43 I saw the clock on 37 and remembered the promise. I don’t know how this promise will come to me or what awaits me in my near future but I believe it’s coming. I believe God has something so beautiful in store for me and I hope I have the faith to keep writing here everyday the events unfolding and allow his story to unfold with a love for the journey as well as the destination.

Goodnight Boise Idaho.